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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622590">Martyr Complex</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara'>Odaigahara</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Moral Dilemmas, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Post-Episode: Putting Others First - Selfishness v. Selflessness Redux | Sanders Sides, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Thoughts, Sympathetic Sides (Sanders Sides), Temporary Character Death, Unreliable Narrator</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:13:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622590</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone hurt and scared, little kids crying, police sirens outside and inside they were huddled together, Virgil scared and Roman psyching himself up for a charge and Logan urging, <i>I implore you to keep calm-</i> "Everybody," Patton whispered. "But what if they only shoot me? If I volunteered to be the one they threatened, so they left everyone alone, wouldn't that be okay?"</p><p>"You'd be dead," Janus pointed out, and Patton shook his head. "More importantly, however, you don't have that option. You're a Side. It's Thomas in this situation, not you." No. "If you volunteer, they're bringing everyone else up with you. They're putting guns to all their heads." No no <i>no-</i> "Are you going to kill them, Patton? Is being a good person worth that much to you?" His eyes were bright and intense. "Are you willing to die if it takes Thomas with you?"</p><p>"No," Patton breathed, and Janus smiled. "But if it was just me-"</p><p>*</p><p>There are consequences to overwhelming Morality, and more for ignoring Thomas's Heart. </p><p>Too bad no one told the Sides that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders &amp; Morality | Patton Sanders, Deceit | Janus Sanders &amp; Morality | Patton Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>120</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>236</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So this is kind of a weird one, but oh well. </p><p>TW at end of chapter</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patton thought the certainty was the worst part. Janus had shown him he was wrong, that he was hurting Thomas, but the facts in his head wouldn't budge. <em>What if it was Lee and Mary Lee? What if it was Leslie Odom Jr? Would you save them then? Would you </em>die <em>to save them then? </em></p><p>He wasn't like Logan or Janus. He didn't know the names of philosophers or what all the great minds thought about his job. All he knew were his feelings on the matter, the impulses Thomas depended on to know whether he was a good person, and those feelings were hard to change. Patton felt sick just by trying.</p><p>He <em>did </em>try, though. He choked back his tears and went to Roman after the video, but the whole thing with Janus's name was still too fresh on Roman's mind, and he wouldn't let him in. He went to Logan- <em>I do care about you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry- </em>and Virgil- <em>um, kiddo, this might come as a surprise to you, and it definitely doesn't mean we don't want </em>you <em>around- </em>but it didn't help anything. Patton felt worse after every conversation.</p><p>He'd <em>said </em>he didn't know what he was doing. But Thomas had said he did, said he had to, so Patton had tried <em>so hard-</em></p><p>He'd been dumb to think it could be enough. And he loved them all so much, but he guessed that wasn't enough, either. So Patton slept, days on days- made food with leftovers that could last a week, was gratified when it disappeared from the fridge and made little notes for each Side to show them he cared about them and they were still family- ignored the ice in his throat and the weight in his chest, as slowly the frayed pieces of the Mindscape knit back together-</p><p>Nothing was enough.</p><p>He had to change. He had to earn their love and his place in Thomas's mind, had to deserve being allowed his existence. He had to be useful, to be better, to do <em>something-</em></p><p>But he couldn't stop thinking about the day of the wedding.</p><p>He couldn't stop thinking about <em>saints</em>.</p><p>They were the pinnacle, weren't they? People who did the right thing even though it hurt, gave up everything for their principles and their God. People you revered, because they'd exposed themselves to pain and heartache in the name of a good cause. Thomas had learned about them in church.</p><p>Saint Paul, beheaded in front of a crowd. Saint Peter, crucified upside-down for his faith. Saint Sebastian, who was shot through with arrows and still went to confront his murderer for his cruelty, even though it meant his death.</p><p>Patton had had a lot of time to think after the wedding, especially since no one was talking to him even a little. Roman was holed up in his room, never coming out when there was a chance of Janus, and Virgil only ventured out to get food and give Patton the cold shoulder. Logan did come out, but he didn't stay; he just grabbed food and left, dismissing any real attempts at conversation. And Remus didn't like him at all, so it was just Patton and Janus most of the time, and when Janus was doing something else, he was alone.</p><p>He was being overemotional for sure, but it felt like he was alone a lot more often than he wasn't.</p><p>At ten in the morning, he forced himself out of bed and to the kitchen, hope fluttering in his chest that maybe today was the day everyone felt better and sat down to breakfast, and as soon as he turned the corner he'd see them at the table, glum and standoffish but still there, still making an effort-</p><p>But the kitchen was empty. Patton's heart sunk, stupid tears prickling at his eyes, and he made himself smile. This was okay! Everyone needed a little more me-time, that was all. If he waited long enough, things would go back to normal, and in the meantime he'd keep making himself useful. His family still needed to eat.</p><p>French toast was a good comfort food, and Patton really wanted some comfort right now. He slathered the griddle in melted butter and dunked the bread in egg, listening all the while for footsteps on the stairs, then put them on the griddle to cook. They weren't done yet, but if he wanted anyone down while they were still hot... "Breakfast's ready!"</p><p>"Lie," Janus said behind him, and Patton yelped and twirled around. Deceit raised his hands in mock-surrender, grin teasing at his lips. "You false witness, they haven't even been flipped yet. Also, they're <em>not </em>about to burn."</p><p>Patton hurriedly flipped them, sighing in relief at the perfect cream-brown on the open sides. "If I call them now, they'll be downstairs when it is ready," he explained, and felt cold. "Um. Usually."</p><p>"So they're still sulking? How mature of them." Patton didn't respond. He made a plate for Janus and slid it over, pretending not to see the pinched concern in his face. "Are you all right, Patton?"</p><p>"When you phrase it like that, I don't yes-or-<em>know </em>how to answer," Patton said, sending him a chiding smile. If he said yes, it was a lie, and if he said no, it should be a lie, because this too would pass and nothing was <em>wrong-</em></p><p>"Objection, Your Honor," Janus said, taking the plate. "This false witness is non-responsive. Thank you, I hate powdered sugar."</p><p>"I know!" He waited for Janus to look at him, then ventured, "That's the <em>powder</em> of friendship. I know I'm being a real sad-<em>saccharine </em>right now, but that's no excuse not to consider others."</p><p>"It's every excuse, in my opinion," Janus said, and Patton suspected it was only half a lie. He'd smiled at the puns, though, so Patton was calling it a win. "So you're sad. I can't guess why."</p><p>"I've been thinking, that's all." The French toast was done. Patton unplugged the griddle and put the toast on plates, setting them on the table. Janus side-eyed him, and he said peevishly, "It's just to let them cool. I don't- if they're not ready to come down yet, that's how it is."</p><p>"Sure." Patton arranged knives and forks, heart strangled in his chest. So what if no-one cared- why did that give <em>him </em>an excuse to give up on <em>them</em>- "May I ask what's got you so considerate lately?"</p><p>"Dunno," Patton mumbled, looking away. "'M just... thinking, I guess. About helping homeless people. Stuff like that." Janus stayed silent. Patton mustered his courage and continued, "After World War Two, in the, um- Genuine Convention? With war crimes. Saying you were just following orders wasn't an excuse for doing horrible things."</p><p>"You're referring to the Nuremberg Defense," Janus said, eyebrows raising. The prospect of a philosophical conversation seemed to buoy him. "Wherein a number of German officials were prosecuted for war crimes following the defeat of Nazi Germany." Patton nodded. "What does that have to do with helping the homeless?"</p><p>He shrugged, biting his lip. "They followed orders because it was easier than not hurting people. Thomas doesn't help homeless people because it's less risky than interacting with them."</p><p>"You're saying he doesn't have an excuse."</p><p>"What's the difference? I know the stakes aren't as bad, but that means the risks aren't as bad, either. Why shouldn't he help?"</p><p>"He can, to an extent, but the risks aren't as different as you think, are they?" Janus took a bite of French toast. Patton wasn't sure he chewed before he swallowed, but he was a snake, so maybe that was normal. "Thomas has only one life. Firing squad or mugging gone awry, it's the same amount of bullets penetrating his organs."</p><p>Patton frowned. "But a firing squad would have maybe ten guns, and a mugger would only have one unless he was maybe really into the Third Amendment-"</p><p>"<em>Second</em> amendment, and I'm making an analogy," Janus said. "It's not- it <em>totally </em>has to be exact." Patton looked at him blankly, and he sighed. "My point is, either one kills him."</p><p>Patton admitted, "Even if it was a firing squad, I still wouldn't want him to hurt people. I'd think he should disobey." The certainty settled on him again, warm and freeing like a breath of fresh air. He knew better than to think it would last.</p><p>"You can't know that until he's in the situation himself," Janus said sharply, "or until <em>you</em> are. And therein lies the problem: it wouldn't just be <em>yourself </em>you'd be risking." He thought for a second, then raised a hand. "Picture this. You're in a hostage situation."</p><p>"What?" Patton squeaked. A hostage situation? How many people, what if someone got hurt, why would anyone be so <em>mean- </em>"Oh, no, that's horrible, what are we gonna do?"</p><p>Janus stared for a long moment, and Patton stared back, eyes wide. Finally he continued, "You're at a bank while it's being robbed." Patton nodded, engrossed. "The robbers all have guns, and they're threatening to shoot a hostage if the police don't let them go free. Your options, as you can see them, are to sit tight and hope the police arrive, knowing that someone- including you- might be shot; or to lunge for the gunmen and try to get everyone to make a break for it."</p><p>"O-oh." Patton felt bile well up in his throat. Like the trolley problem, where either way people died, and he had to decide which way was better. A question where all the answers were wrong. "So, if I make a break for it-"</p><p>"The gunmen might shoot everybody. And the other Sides are in the crowd." Janus met his eyes. "Can you picture it?"</p><p>Patton's heart hurt, it was beating so fast. Everyone hurt and scared, little kids crying, police sirens outside and inside they were huddled together, Virgil scared and Roman psyching himself up for a charge and Logan urging, <em>I implore you to keep calm</em>. "<em>Everybody</em>," he whispered. "But what if they only shoot me? If I volunteered to be the one they threatened, so they left everyone alone, wouldn't that be okay?"</p><p>"You'd be dead," Janus pointed out, and Patton shook his head. "More importantly, however, you don't have that option. You're a Side. It's Thomas in this situation, not you." No. "If you volunteer, they're bringing everyone else up with you. They're putting guns to all their heads." No no <em>no</em>- "Are you going to kill them, Patton? Is being a good person worth that much to you?" His eyes were bright and intense. "Are you willing to die if it takes Thomas with you?"</p><p>"No," Patton breathed, and Janus smiled. "But if it was just me-"</p><p>"It's not just you. It never is. You'd be urging Thomas into something you had no conception of, all in the service of an ideal. No one would blame him for hanging back, even if someone else died in his place. They'd call it a tragedy and shower him with sympathy." He glanced down at his plate. "This <em>isn't</em> very good, by the way. Well done." Patton sniffled, and he jerked his head up, eyes widening. "It's <em>not</em> only a scenario. The real situation is vanishingly unlikely, given Thomas's social class-"</p><p>"I get it," Patton said, trying to smile. He cast a glance to the other, unclaimed plates, and his smile wavered. "I think I'd better get these in the fridge." The others would come out when he wasn't around. "Can we hang out later?"</p><p>"Of course not," Janus said, surprised like he didn't expect an invitation, and Patton's smile got a little more real.</p><p>*</p><p>The conversation stuck with him, though. <em>You'd be urging Thomas into something you had no conception of, all in the service of an ideal.</em></p><p>Patton felt like he was teetering on the edge of a cliff, staring out into endless blue. He was light, truth and sweetness and soft squishy emotions. He was the squeamish horror of roadkill that wasn't quite dead, and starving cats, and children with bruises on their faces who never should've been hurt in the first place. He was paternal instinct and kindness, all the parts of Thomas that wanted to hug and hold and help people on their feet.</p><p>Inaction felt like murder. <em>We didn't know, so we didn't act</em>.<em> He didn't thank us, so we didn't care. He wouldn't have thanked us, so we didn't bother caring, and he went to sleep on a park bench and never woke up. We heard of a petition for a new homeless shelter and didn't sign it because it wouldn't have done anything, so why bother trying? Why bother caring at all when people died? Why act, when passivity is so much easier?</em></p><p>But if Patton wanted to act, he had to go through Thomas, and if Thomas acted, he could get hurt. He could <em>die</em>. And maybe he was going to die anyway, but if kindness meant risk and risk meant injury<em>, </em>Patton would be a murderer if he drove him to his death. But <em>Thomas</em> was like a murderer if he didn't act- maybe not to other people, but in the eyes of something bigger.</p><p>But Janus would say the flesh outweighed the soul, since only one could be proven to exist. Logan would agree with him. Patton had already proved himself unreliable, so if he was outvoted, they were probably right. </p><p>The problem was, though, that neither of them was <em>Morality</em>. Janus had to be willing to be selfish and do bad things, and Logan had to look for the practical first, because that was who they were. Patton  had to be moral. He had to be willing to do the right thing, always, even when that meant backing off or accepting blame or pushing Thomas to do something unpleasant, except if he pushed too far he'd kill him and everyone with him-</p><p>Patton shuddered. He could feel that righteousness inside him, that calm regard for the idea of Thomas's death. Damning yourself for the betterment of others could be okay, couldn't it? If one death was better than five. If it was better to pull the lever. Except he'd be pulling the lever on <em>Thomas</em>. Was it holding up his end of the bargain to make Thomas be as good as he wanted him to be, or was he confusing himself further? What were their lives worth compared to other humans', when for all they knew other people had Sides of their own? Death was already a tragedy. Did knowledge of their own existence mean they had more of a right to live than anyone else?</p><p>Thomas was the one who'd been relying on him so much recently. What if Thomas was supposed to listen to Patton less, so whatever Patton thought couldn't have so much power over him? That way, even if Patton did say he had to die for someone else, Thomas could say no. Patton could be like Janus, advocating but having to convince everyone when he wanted something done.</p><p>Maybe he should find a way to rein <em>himself </em>in, if Thomas wouldn't do it for him. He couldn't rely on Thomas for everything. He had to be vigilant, like Virgil. He had to pull his own weight.</p><p>The possibilities ached at him. If it did come up, if Thomas did have to choose between his life and that of a friend, or a little kid, or a pregnant lady- Patton didn't know if he could stand to keep back. He had to do his job, no matter what. It was carved into the heart of him.</p><p>Janus's words echoed back at him: <em>You'd be urging Thomas into something you had no conception of. </em>He'd be going off ideals and nothing else. It was one thing to <em>say </em>you'd rush into a burning building, but another thing to be faced with it. Patton was all talk.</p><p>What kind of Morality could he be, if he couldn't be certain about his decisions? Thomas shouldn't listen to him so much, and if he sent him to his death he'd never forgive himself, but if it did come up- if there was no other <em>choice</em>-</p><p>Maybe seeing how bad it'd be would change something in him. Maybe he'd be more cautious, more enlightened, <em>better. </em>Maybe then he'd know what to do.</p><p>If he asked Thomas to hurt himself without even being prepared for the pain he'd cause, he'd be a hip- a hyp- "Hippocampus," Patton mumbled, staring at the floor of his room. Not right. He was getting confused. Thomas was so conflicted lately- "Hippopotamus. Hypothetical?" He shook his head, but the word stayed on the tip of his tongue. He was Memory, and he couldn't even do this much. All he had were picture books and VHS tapes. "<em>Hogwash</em>," he snapped, and the frustration was so intense it burned.</p><p>He was so <em>stupid</em>. No wonder Logan had gotten tired of his apologies.</p><p>He didn't want to keep laying around. He'd been doing that for so long, and the hint of purpose he'd reached hit like a dose of caffeine. Something to do that wasn't making meal after meal that no one wanted- that wasn't waiting around so he wasn't pushy, wavering at Roman's door, slipping notes that Logan never read, wondering if Virgil would ever forgive him, if anyone would-</p><p>He went to the kitchen anyway, staring forlornly at the plates of breakfast in the fridge, and got out the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. He baked them on autopilot, not too much baking soda, more chips than the recipe required so they saturated the cookies with chocolate, a hundred little bursts of sweetness when you took a bite. Cozy and homey and pointless.</p><p>He gathered them all onto a plate and went to visit Remus.</p><p>The Dark Side hurt to focus on. It was anathema, a topsy-turvy opposite of what he stood for, and the old hatred lingered and thickened the air even more now that Remus was the only one down there. This part of the Mindscape wanted him dead and gone. </p><p>Patton had to force himself to see clearly, and the effort made him blink back tears. His heart beat in his chest like a trapped butterfly.</p><p>Remus found him before he could find Remus. One moment he was creeping down a dark hallway, clutching the cookies to his chest so they'd stay warm, and the next there was a sinister Roman in front of him, manic and hateful with burning eyes. Patton quailed, instinct telling him to run and run and keep as <em>far away as possible, he'll hurt you hurt Thomas hurt them all, keep them safe make him </em>stop<em>-</em> "I brought cookies," he said weakly, holding them out like an offering.</p><p>Remus yanked them from his arms and shoved one in his mouth, crumbs spewing down his shirt. "Crunchy. Not enough blood. I thought you'd at least poison them." He grinned, teeth sharpened to points. "Cyanide's my favorite," Remus confided. "You know what it does to you?"</p><p>"I'm not sure I want to know," Patton said, cringing back. "Please don't tell me?"</p><p>"First it splits your skull right open," Remus said, and the shadows lunged in. Patton yelped and clutched his head, migraine colors blurring his vision.</p><p>
  <em>"Wait-"</em>
</p><p>"Then your heart speeds up!" Remus jabbed at his chest. Patton's breath caught, heart leaping into his throat. "You stop being able to breathe." He <em>couldn't</em> breathe- no, it was just a thought, like Roman making the world sparkly but <em>mean-</em> "Then you pass out and die, and no doctor in the <em>world</em> can save you." The Duke let him go. Patton doubled over, hugging himself and gasping, and Remus said cheerfully, "Wouldn't it be <em>fun</em> doing that to Joan?"</p><p>"Not really," Patton whispered, but the image unfurled in gory detail: Joan falling to the floor, convulsing, foam at their mouth until they went finally, horribly still- <em>"Stop," </em>he whimpered, and Remus tilted his head.</p><p>"Am I <em>scaring </em>you, Patton?" He grabbed him by the collar, yanked him forward. "Are you coming into the Dark Side and telling me how to live? Do you want me to stop doing what I like, down here in the dark where I'm <em>all alone?"</em></p><p>"You don't have to be," Patton forced out, dazzled with fear. "You can come up with Janus, you shouldn't be down here at all-"</p><p>"Don't tell me what I should be!" Remus snarled, shoving him away. Patton hit the wall and staggered, glasses falling off his face. He ducked to get them and barely yanked his hand back before Remus could stomp it. "You brought me cookies, <em>that's </em>rich. What do you want from me, Morality? Gotta be a doozy if you came all the way down here. Otherwise you'd never bother visiting."</p><p>Oh. That was true, wasn't it. He was only visiting because it served <em>him, </em>even if he'd been wanting to start bringing Remus food anyway, and now he'd ruined that idea, too, because this selfish attempt would always hang over it as a reminder- "Never mind," Patton said, drenched with guilt. "I'm sorry, it's nothing, I can go now." He turned to leave, but Remus grabbed his arm, grip tight enough to bruise. Patton yelped.</p><p>Don't be scared, the least he could do was not be <em>scared</em>-</p><p>"It's the Imagination, isn't it?" Remus asked brightly, and Patton sniffled. The grip on his arm was really starting to hurt. "What's wrong, Roman not putting out? Craving something too <em>messy </em>for his sensitivities?" Patton's face heated with humiliation. "Holy shit, is that actually it? You've got hidden depths, Papa Smurf."</p><p>"It's not what you think," Patton protested, looking away. Focusing on Remus down here hurt, too. "And it's okay if you don't want to help, I- I've been so mean to you, you're right, I shouldn't ask you this<em>-"</em></p><p>"So you think I won't let you in?" Remus asked, and the blood-tinged shadows closed in, making his grin widen. Patton blinked at the blur where Remus was and tried not to cry. "Maybe I want you in there. Maybe I <em>want</em> to see if you get hurt."</p><p>The wall closest to him opened like a ragged maw, dripping black at its edges. The air that came out of it was wretchedly hot. "Well?" Remus goaded. "Go on in, Daddy Dearest. See what you find."</p><p>"O-oh," Patton said, staring. "Really?"</p><p>"Don't keep me in suspense," Remus said, smile darkening, and Patton stooped to grab his glasses, fumbling them back onto his face. The world cleared. Remus didn't stop him.</p><p>"That offer's still open," he said, bracing in case Remus shoved him again. "You don't have to stay down here. You're Creativity, too." Remus froze. Patton swallowed, then added, because he <em>had </em>to, "Janus still loves you."</p><p>"Keep talking and I'll rip out your jugular and eat it," Remus snarled. Patton jerked back and fled before he could go through with the threat.</p><p>*</p><p>Remus's half of the Imagination was oppressively hot, and each breath hurt like he was walking through smoke. Patton shrank into himself, telling himself firmly not to pray. Remus was probably making it feel like Hell to mess with him. Roman's side changed based on however he felt at the moment, too.</p><p>After a while the sulfur smell faded, and he was left in pitch black, darkness scratching at him like a thousand tiny knives. It felt like sin and horror, everything wrong with the world; the realm had a heartbeat, a sickening pulse of <em>not-right not-right not-right, </em>and trying to ignore it made Patton nauseous. He covered his mouth.</p><p>Eventually light trickled in, jaundiced and sickly, and he found himself in a dark pine forest, undergrowth dwarfed by huge crooked mushrooms. "Like Minecraft," Patton whispered, but the comfort was hollow; the ground squelched and clung to his shoes, muddy and rotten, and the air was choked with spores and humidity. The only light in the sky was a sliver of moon, yellowed like an overgrown fingernail.</p><p>A twig snapped behind him. Patton shivered and put on his cardigan, dreadfully conscious of Remus's monsters following in the dark. He walked until his courage failed him, wondering if they were going to attack while his back was turned or just watch, and finally got up the bravery to say, "I need to do something."</p><p>The silence was crushing. No crickets, no cicadas or chirping frogs, only himself and the darkness around him, stalking closer with every second of pause. "I'm wrong," Patton said, and to his shame he was already on the verge of tears. "I have to not be, I can't ask for things I won't do myself, but I'm already so scared-" No. No, he couldn't make this about him. Thomas had counted on him and he'd failed, he'd taken the lead and he'd messed it up, the least he could do was claw his way back to square one- "I have to know. It's- gruesome, I'm bad, I- I need train tracks. And a train, and rope." He swallowed, eyes blurring with tears. Trolley problem. Was he Morality or wasn't he? "I have to be tied down."</p><p>The ground shifted, and suddenly the sun was blinding. Patton gasped and tried to get up, to shield his eyes, but his arms were pinned at his sides by rough bonds, tied down so he couldn't squirm loose. Metal dug into his back. He tried to control his breathing, craning his head to the side, but there was no one next to him. He was the one person, then- the one who was doomed so the other five could live, even though originally he wouldn't have died at all. The one Thomas had to kill.</p><p>He hadn't thought it would happen so fast. He'd thought he'd have time to psych himself up, to prepare, but of course that wasn't how this would go. Bad things didn't send RSVPs before they happened.</p><p>The desert sun was dazzling. Patton stared up at it and tried not to hyperventilate. He couldn't get loose, he didn't even know if this side of the Imagination would let him, but that didn't matter, right? In the real world, he wouldn't be able to stop just because he felt scared. Here, like the real world, the only way out was through. He whimpered, shameful and terrified, and the ground started to shake.</p><p>This was what he wanted. This was why he was here.</p><p>A whistle shrieked, and the tracks rumbled louder and louder. Patton turned his head, closing his eyes and trying to calm down like Virgil taught him. 4-7-8. It would be okay. He had to do this, there was no <em>reason </em>to cry, it would be <em>okay</em>-</p><p>The wheels sliced through him before he could scream. The world exploded in agony, and Patton caught a glimpse of blood and viscera thrown into the air-</p><p>Then he was in the mud, hugging his middle, and he was screaming.</p><p>The pain engulfed him, memory setting his nerves on fire. He sobbed, holding himself like it could make him forget being torn apart, and for ages he couldn't do anything but  curl up and try to breathe. Blood was in his mouth, flashing behind his eyes. His throat felt like it'd been crushed by a thousand tons.</p><p>When he came back to himself, his hands and knees were drenched in mud. His face hurt from crying, eyes puffy and tired, and the monstrous darkness stung him like salt on open wounds. His tongue tasted like vomit.</p><p><em>That</em>. That was what Patton had asked Thomas to endure, to make <em>others </em>endure. That pain, that fear, that helpless dread- <em>that</em> was the cost of going too far. If being Morality meant urging Thomas into horror for the sake of others, then this would be the result.</p><p>Memento mori. This was what happened to Thomas if he went too far, so if he wanted to push him to sainthood, he'd better be aware of what it cost. He'd better know what he was asking.</p><p>Now he knew. Now he could make himself <em>better.</em></p><p>The pain faded at last, and relief flooded to fill its place, welling up inside him like a stream of light. Patton looked at the ground. "I get it," he mumbled, choking on sobs. "I get it, I'm sorry, I'll do better, I can be good, I promise. I'll be useful, I'll be <em>good-" </em>His voice broke. The darkness ate at him like acid.</p><p>Patton wanted to sleep forever. Instead, he pushed past the ache of his heart and whispered, "<em>Thomas</em>. I'm so sorry."</p><p>On his knees beneath the black, oppressive sky, it almost felt like prayer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW at end of chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Patton staggered back to his room some indeterminate time later, slathered in mud and barely holding up his own weight. He conjured himself clean and collapsed on the floor, curled around a blanket and stuffed animal and too tired to climb on the bed. The carpet scratched his face, and the plushie- a big ole chimpanzee in a little diaper that'd used to belong to Thomas's mother- smelled weird, but he couldn't have cared less. His room felt like Thomas wished he did when he saw his childhood bedroom- pure unfiltered familiarity, soft at the edges with every corner known: a place he'd spent months and months in till he could sleep easy in any old corner, because the feel of it meant safety.</p><p>It was dumb, but Patton really wanted safety just then. He wanted to think back to the time before Thomas knew they existed, before he had to think of anything more serious than how to avoid getting sent to his room. Patton had been his inner Child then, the clinging dependence on his parents, his Heart and Memory. He'd absorbed everything Thomas was taught about right and wrong like a little Patton sponge, so Thomas could echo it back.</p><p>Then there had been middle school and the rest of the world, and high school and all its changes- then Thomas had been emo and jaded and certain he knew all there was to know about everything-</p><p>Then they'd <em>learned-</em></p><p>Things had gotten so complicated. Racism was bad. Sexism and homophobia and Islamophobia and Antisemitism and colorism and classism and ableism were bad. Hurting people was bad, though, so all that made sense, except sometimes you had to hurt people to help people, but other times that made you worse because what gave you that right, but then you were on the spot and you had to choose and what if you chose <em>wrong</em>?</p><p>He wanted to talk to Logan or Virgil. He could tell when he was getting carried away, too scattered and subjective, but without an anchor all he could do was drift. His chest was imploding. He was all wrong, all sharp edges and points and he had to wear himself down, make himself easier to carry, but he didn't know who he'd be then. He couldn't even really think in words, not when he was this upset.</p><p>Patton hugged the chimpanzee closer and buried his face in its fuzzy shoulder, mind replaying the impact over and over.</p><p>He woke up on his back, glasses smushed on his face and new tears on his cheeks. He was all lead weights and no energy to move them, and every breath <em>lead </em>to more pain in his breastbone, like something precious was broken for real. He didn't even remember falling asleep.</p><p>Thomas's phone said it was Wednesday. Patton thought it had been Monday before, which was concerning, but hopefully the leftovers had tided everyone over. He'd hung out with Janus on Monday, hadn't he? So Janus might be okay for now. Maybe Patton's absence had made it easier for the others to come out and socialize.</p><p>He went to the kitchen and made soup, taking a longer time stirring in case someone got attracted by the smell, but no one came.</p><p>On Thursday, when Janus regretfully informed him that he had work to do convincing Thomas's Aunt Patty that he liked her Instagram posts, Patton went back down to the Imagination with another plate of cookies.</p><p>"They're Snickerdoodles this time," he said, holding them out from what he hoped was a safe distance. Remus was lounging in a nest of trash in the hall, covered in blood and kitchen scraps. The hallway was dark, but Patton could feel the weight of his eyes. "I thought you'd like them 'cause they kind of sound like <em>doody</em>."</p><p>Remus's eyes glinted like eels in black water. "Are you saying I should eat shit, Dream Daddy?"</p><p>"No!" Patton's face heated. "I-I just- thought you liked stuff like that?"</p><p>"Whatever." The Duke waved a lethargic hand, flopping his head back on the trash pile. "Go get disemboweled or something, see if I care." The portal opened. Patton pushed back his concern and stepped through.</p><p>This time the stifling heat didn't come as a surprise, but that didn't stop the smoke from clogging his lungs. His eyes were watering by the time he stumbled out into the forest, and when he spat to get rid of the ashy taste in his mouth, his saliva was black. Probably <em>soot</em> have held his breath, he thought, but the pun cheered him less than he'd hoped.</p><p>The forest loomed, trees stripped of all their leaves. The scorched trunks looked like spindly claws. Above them were thick, dark clouds, low and roiling; occasionally lightning flashed between them and made Patton jump.</p><p>The wind picked up, spraying ash across the blackened ground, and Patton realized the taste hadn't been all from the heat. There had been a fire, since he was last here. Remus had let a swathe of his realm burn.</p><p>He didn't know why, but the thought made him sick to his stomach. Just watching, unmoved, as something you worked on so long caught fire, sitting back and letting the desolation spread, and <em>leaving </em>it after-</p><p>Patton hugged himself and said, "I want to see what happens if I try to stop a mugging."</p><p>Nothing happened. He blinked, staring around, and added tentatively, "Please? Mr Imagination? It'd really help me out." Zilch. "You'd have a <em>shot</em> at seeing me get shot?"</p><p>Thunder crashed over his head, so loud it knocked Patton to the ground, and the rain fell hard and fast like bullets. Patton hissed in pain and wrestled off his cardigan, holding it over his head in self-defense- and somewhere, in the distance, somebody screamed.</p><p>Empathic terror made Patton's heart leap, head flooding with <em>shock fear oh no they're hurt someone's </em><em><strong>hurt, </strong></em>and he was on his feet before he could decide to stand, raindrops blowing sideways into his face.</p><p>
  <em>"Hello?"</em>
</p><p>The thunder was deafening, wind a living howl, and the raindrops were flechettes slicing into his skin. He couldn't tell where the scream had come from, which way he had to run to help. Was it one of Roman's villagers, lost in the storm? Or another Side, wandered onto the wrong half of the Imagination, attacked by one of the creatures Remus loved setting loose to watch the carnage?</p><p>No, no no <em>no</em> it couldn't be that, it <em>couldn't,</em> Patton was being silly- "Who's there? Where are you, I'm coming to help!" He slipped in the mud, ankle twisting, and the thunder drowned out his cry of pain. But someone was out there and hurt, definitely having a worse time than Patton. He couldn't afford to lay there until the pain receded.</p><p>Another scream, louder and closer and utterly terrified<em>. </em>Patton struggled to his feet and ran, limping as fast as he could, and the figure finally came into view: a young girl in a red hood, one of Roman's favorite townspeople. She was pale and panting, white with fear, and following close behind her was a man with a knife.</p><p>His face was set with rage.</p><p>The girl saw Patton and froze, trembling like a frightened deer. Then the man snarled something too low to hear, and she bolted for Patton and cried, "Please, please, he's gonna kill me!"</p><p>They were both still far away, and the man had longer legs. He was <em>gaining</em>, blade in hand, and if Patton stayed where he was, he'd get to watch this girl die in perfect detail and she was so <em>scared-</em></p><p>Patton rushed forward, yanking the kiddo behind him and the man halted in disbelief. "Leave her alone," Patton said, and his voice came out more even than he'd expected. "She's just a little girl. She couldn't have done anything to deserve this."</p><p>No one deserved to be chased down and stabbed, actually, but that probably wasn't something to say to a guy with a knife.</p><p>"Get the fuck out of the way," the man growled. The girl scrambled back, staring wildly between them. "This doesn't concern you."</p><p>"I think it does, actually," Patton said, watching the man's hands. He had a butcher knife. Lightning streaked across the sky above their heads and reflected off the blade, putting the strangers' faces in sharp relief.</p><p>Two large, frightened eyes- a wicked, twisting sneer- and a voice saying darkly, "Last warning. Step out of the way, or I kill you first."</p><p>Cut and flies, Patton thought hysterically, but no, that wasn't right. He couldn't think of the right term, couldn't keep the words in his head. He knew what he meant, though. This was something with a clear answer. He would never have let Thomas walk away from this one, before the wedding.</p><p>Cut and wet. Cat and fries. Cheese and crackers- no, no, <em>wrong- </em>"Kiddo, I think you need to run," Patton squeaked, and the little girl dashed away, movement obscured by the vicious, heavy rain. The man cursed and turned on him, a full head taller and radiating violence.</p><p>Patton felt a strange coolness fall over him. He felt like mercury, liquid silver, all cold and breathing light. He knew what was going to happen next, because it <em>had</em> to happen so the girl had time to escape. It was the only thing that could.</p><p>"You're not a very <em>knife</em> person," he remarked, grinning with fear, and the man grabbed him by the throat and drove the blade into his shoulder.</p><p>Patton choked, more from the grip on his neck than the wound, and the man cut again, carving the blade into his chest and yanking it up and out in a spray of blood. He dropped Patton the next second, already moving on, but Patton couldn't make him stay any longer.</p><p>The pain had hit, like getting punched really hard, except the bruise was hot and needling and leaking warmth down his chest. He gasped, trying to stand, but his legs were jelly, and moving made the branding pain a thousand times hotter. He laid still, trying to breathe, but the air wouldn't stay in his body. Blood bubbled off his lips.</p><p>He might have been crying, but the rain made it hard to tell. </p><p>He didn't even know if he'd saved the little girl.</p><p>The warmth left him after a while, and the lightning got fainter and fainter, narrowing to a pinprick in the center of his vision.</p><p>Patton closed his eyes.</p><p>He opened them at the bottom of a slope, covered head to toe in sludgy ash and half-submerged in a growing flood. He yelped and scrambled up the bank, ankle protesting; the rain had lightened to a steady patter against the canopy, but the water still rose, frothing with current. Patton shivered violently, pulling himself out to huddle against the side of a tree, and stared at the water for a while.</p><p>That little girl had been so scared, and she'd run but maybe not fast enough, not in time to escape... but she hadn't been real. The Imagination had played a trick on him, and he'd fallen right for it. Stupid, gullible Morality.</p><p>It had given him what he'd asked for, though. He shouldn't have felt so peeved about it.</p><p>Patton should have wanted to go back home, but something in him balked at the thought. This side of the Imagination was gloomy and painful, but lingering meant a break from the constant headache back in the Mindscape. External problems made it a lot easier to forget his actual ones. As long as he was all cold and shivery, soaked through like a dish sponge, he didn't have to think about anything else. He could persevere, and feel like he was getting somewhere. He could endure.</p><p>He wandered for at least an hour, ankle twinging worse and worse as he slumped through the deluge, until the chill caught up with him and he leaned against a tree, struggling for breath. "Silly goose," he murmured to himself, infinitely tired, and curled into himself to preserve some warmth. The bark felt rough on his back.</p><p>Against a tree, like Saint Sebastian. What if <em>Patton</em> was the one surrounded, shot through with arrows and left for dead? Could he keep his faith, keep smiling and promise his family it'd be okay? Could he stop himself from making everything about him? Would he be a good person then?</p><p>His mind was so bleary, like the rain was washing it away. He wondered what it would be like to be nailed to a cross, to hang and scorch in the sun, to scream for mercy that never came because this was right, ordained by something higher, and what was he but a pawn, a receptacle, for the abstract idea of justice-</p><p>Being crucified upside down would've been worse. Being stoned to death, pressed onto a sharp stone, cut apart by children- having his skin pulled from the muscle, rolled back red and glistening as he screamed and screamed and <em>screamed-</em></p><p>"What are you even doing out here, anyway?" the Duke asked, and Patton shrieked, twisting around. His ankle wouldn't hold his weight, though; it buckled, sending him falling, and only Remus's sudden, painful hold on his arm kept him up.</p><p>The thoughts jarred through him, sharper and blood-sour, and he sucked in a breath, tried to swallow them back. Remus wasn't really that bad. There was no excuse to be rude, especially not since Roman's brother was doing him a favor. He made himself smile. "Remus! Hi! Did you like the cookies?"</p><p>"I fed them to my rats," Remus said, tilting his head like Patton was a puzzle with a piece missing. Patton's vision tinted a dangerous red.</p><p>"Oh." Patton had to think about that. Remus had rats? Did Janus ever eat them? "Did- did the rats like them, or-"</p><p>"So you acting out sexy fantasies or what?" Remus asked, suddenly <em>much closer</em>. "DeeDee in fancy lingerie? Nerdy Wolverine all tied up and waiting? Gotta be something they wouldn't like, or you wouldn't be here, so what is it, Papa Roach? Something on the <em>kinky </em>side?"</p><p>Patton was having a hard time breathing, which would've been fine, except Remus was too close and the dark thoughts were crowding into his brain, shouting and screaming like a riot. "What's kinky?" he squeaked, ankle bringing tears to his eyes. "Is- is it like if your shirt is wrinkled?"</p><p>"No," Remus said. "It's <em>smexy</em> shit. Sometimes with actual shit! It's where you get off on fucking other people up."</p><p>That didn't sound very nice. "Okay," Patton said weakly, mind playing scenes of gruesome death over and over until he could <em>feel </em>the arrows cutting through him, the stones bruising his skin- "Um. I'm not doing that."</p><p>"I'm gonna break your legs and make them heal into squares," Remus said, and it was too much, Patton couldn't help it. He burst into tears.</p><p>Remus went still, and Patton covered his face, trying desperately to stop crying. Remus was the last person he deserved to cry in front of. Patton was supposed to be good. He was supposed to be <em>happy, </em>but he wasn't and everyone hated him and it wasn't enough, and now he was even making it <em>Remus's </em>problem.</p><p>"I'm sorry," Patton whimpered, hot with shame. "I-I- I know you're not that bad really, I just-" Knives and guns and snarling faces, the train hitting before he could brace himself- "I'm <em>sorry-"</em></p><p>Suddenly he was back in front of his room, cradling a tiny frog in his hand, and the change was so abrupt he stopped crying at once. The little frog looked up at him with midnight-black eyes and croaked, teeny throat expanding, then hopped out of his palm and burst into black glitter.</p><p>Oh. Patton looked down at his glitter-covered hands, something warm and fragile expanding in his chest.</p><p>He showered in lukewarm water, feeling too icky to wait for it to heat completely, and curled up in his onesie to sleep. The glitter fell off him and stuck to <em>everything.</em></p><p>*</p><p>He was in the living room when Janus popped up, stubbed his toe on a coffee table, and demanded, "Why on <em>Earth </em>are you rearranging the furniture?"</p><p>Patton stopped adjusting the big painting and said, sheepish, "I wanted to see what it looked like different."</p><p>He had the beanbags in the middle of the floor, with bunch of new fluffy pillows on the couch and a coffee table on the opposite side from where it usually was. He'd wanted to move the couch a little, or at least bring in a new loveseat, but summoning them had been harder than he'd thought; his headache had gotten a hundred times worse, body aching, and he'd broken down coughing for a straight (gay!) few minutes after the attempt. So moving the couch had had to wait. "D'you like it?"</p><p>"It certainly <em>won't </em>be a surprise for the others if they decide to rise up instead of walking," Janus said, and when Patton's face fell he hurriedly added, "But it's... not bad. Though the beanbags might cause trouble if anyone wants to watch TV from the couch."</p><p>Patton sniffled, throat hurting, and said with a smile, "Yeah! But I figured, so long as it's just the two of us..." He trailed off. Was that pushy? He didn't mean to imply that he thought Janus should hang out with him more or anything like that, not if he didn't want to. "I-I mean-" The tickle in his throat got worse, and he fell into a coughing fit that left him breathless. His chest really hurt. He wheezed, telling himself firmly not to sneeze, and continued with his cheeriest smile, "If you wanted to watch any movies or anything, I thought the bean bags might be fun."</p><p>"I'd hate it with all my heart," Janus said, coming closer and putting a hand to Patton's forehead. "Patton, you're burning up."</p><p>He was? But he hadn't set himself on fire yet. "I guess I'm on fire today," Patton joked, trying not to obviously lean into the touch. Janus's hands were nice and cool, and he was so close Patton could bury his face in his shoulders, maybe get to feel arms around him. "Dunno why they call it a cold when it's so hot."</p><p>"You should definitely be exerting yourself," Janus said, frowning, and before Patton could protest he'd been maneuvered onto the couch, Janus scrounging around in the kitchen. "How did you even <em>get</em> sick? You were fine two days ago."</p><p>Patton shrugged, looking down. "I went to the Imagination," he offered, chest threatening another coughing fit. "It was raining."</p><p>Janus pinched his nose. "That wouldn't do it. Did you happen to do anything else while you were there?" His tone was sharper, practiced, but he was still rummaging through the cabinets, bringing out a mug and some other things Patton couldn't see.</p><p>"I hurt my ankle?" he ventured, because Janus sounded worried and the last thing he wanted was to make anyone <em>else </em>feel worse. "It still hurts when I put weight on it."</p><p>"And you chose to rearrange the <em>living room?"</em></p><p>"I wanted to walk it off," Patton said, and Janus scoffed. "It worked for Thomas before!"</p><p>"Oh, <em>unquestionably</em>," Janus drawled. "I'd better bring you an ice pack, too."</p><p>"You don't have to," Patton said weakly, guilt eating him alive. "It was my fault I got hurt. I can take care of it."</p><p>Janus snorted. "Patton, from what I can tell, none of you ever take care of anything. I'm truly amazed you've all survived this long."</p><p><em>That</em> stung. "We were doing okay till recently," Patton defended, then wilted. "At least, I thought we were. But the wedding-"</p><p>"Found every weak spot and put a bullet in it, I'm aware." Janus came back with an ice pack and chicken soup, and Patton brightened. Chicken soup was good for a lot more than the soul. "Don't keep that elevated, will you?" He obligingly put his ankle up on a pillow with the ice. Janus eyed the swelling and asked disbelievingly, "What made you think you could walk on this?"</p><p>"It's not that bad," Patton said, craning his neck to blow on the soup. He'd still been able to walk, after all, and the swelling hadn't really started until after he left the Imagination. His ankle felt a little frail, was all. "The swelling makes it look worse than it-"</p><p>He stopped, mouth going dry. Roman was standing in the doorway, looking between them with an unreadable expression. There were deep bags under his eyes, though his hair was perfectly styled.</p><p>Patton's heart clenched. "Well," Roman said, mouth twisting into a frown. "I see Deceit's still here."</p><p>"<em>So</em> glad to know you're still in possession of your eyes," Janus said, low. There was a vicious tension in the air; Patton realized he didn't actually know if they'd ever apologized to each other, or how it had gone if they had. "Is there a point to that remark, Roman, or are you going to continue standing there? We do happen to be busy."</p><p>"There's food in the fridge, if you want, or I can heat something up for you?" Patton tried, struggling upright. The motion shot sharp needles through his ankle. "Lemme just get up really fast. I can get it."</p><p>"You'll do <em>no such thing."</em></p><p>Roman snapped, "Don't tell him what to do, snake."</p><p>"He has a sprained ankle," Janus hissed, "and a fever." Roman's eyes widened. "If you want food, you can get it for yourself. I trust you can manage that much?"</p><p>"Janus," Patton chided, and the other Side subsided, glancing down at him with pinched lips. "Roman, there's still some spaghetti left if you want it?"</p><p>Roman stared between them, wavering, then said tightly, "All right. Thank you for the food, Patton." He went into the kitchen and disappeared a few moments later, leaving the two of them alone again.</p><p>Janus sighed. "I <em>don't</em> suppose that's progress."</p><p>"I think it might be?" Patton said tentatively. "But, um. You might need to have an honest talk about your feelings."</p><p>Janus rolled his eyes. "Eat your soup before it gets cold. And whatever you did to get this fever, try not to do it again."</p><p>*</p><p>If Roman appearing downstairs was progress, Patton didn't see much more of it for the following week. Janus bullied him into resting, spending a lot of time just hanging out in his room or accompanying him downstairs, and while Patton loved the company, craved it like chocolate or cookies, it didn't make up for everyone else being gone.</p><p>He made food and labelled it for each Side- healthy for Logan, fancy for Roman, comfort food for Virgil- and dropped plates down for Remus, too, though he tried not to stay long enough to meet him in person. The swelling in his ankle died down with his fever.</p><p>Virgil's food stopped disappearing after two days, a whole work week's worth left spoiling in the fridge. On the fifth day, Patton couldn't take it anymore.</p><p>He thought hard about it first, though, because Virgil was definitely still upset with him. Usually he'd ask someone else to bring the food in this situation, but the only other person talking to Patton was Janus. Patton wasn't the most observant Side, but he was pretty sure the sight of Janus at his door would only make Virgil madder.</p><p>Maybe the best thing to do was leave well enough alone. But the thought of it- of Virgil curled up with hunger in bed, thoughts spiraling down and down as he lost track of time, drowning in worst case scenarios-</p><p>Patton couldn't stand it. He had to do <em>something, </em>even if it was as hands-off as possible. Ignoring the situation would be wrong. So the real question was...</p><p>"What does Virgil like?" Patton mused, alone in the kitchen in the early morning. He listed everything he could think of, limping over to the pantry to get out flour and sugar and vanilla jello for extra moisture. "Wearing black, listening to loud music, sitting on things, cryptids, the Tumblr, Halloween..." Hopefully Virgil would eat cake even if he still hated Patton after; Patton would accept a <em>hallow </em>victory like that.</p><p>The sound of his own voice bolstered him, making him feel less alone. A couple times he even caught himself humming.</p><p>Patton came to his decision and made yellow cake from scratch, whipping up dark chocolate frosting and making the whole kitchen smell fudgy-sweet. Virgil liked that nifty alternative music with the yelling and the guitars, so Patton found a picture of the album cover with the marching band skeleton. He couldn't draw something that complicated on a cake, though. Roman could, but<em>-</em></p><p>A sharp pang in his heart. Patton smiled to make it recede and decided to do the best he could with what he had. Skulls were basically a circle and a square, right? He could draw a circle and a square.</p><p>He put a white chocolate frosting skull in the center of the cake. Then, because it was a marching band skull- a mellobone player, maybe, or the <em>redrum</em> major, or part of the dolor guard- he drew a fancy black top hat with all the focus he could muster.</p><p>The end result looked pretty dang good, if Patton said so himself! It really took the cake.</p><p>But Virgil's opinion was the one that mattered. Patton made up his mind to knock and leave it to the side of the door, so Virgil could come out without stepping on it by accident. That way he wouldn't get worried and think it was a prank.</p><p>Patton's chest felt tight. He summoned all his courage and went upstairs to knock on Virgil's door, cradling the confection at his side. He'd brought paper plates and plastic forks and napkins, too, so Virgil would have something to eat on. "Virgil? Kiddo? I made you a cake," he started, fidgeting. "'Cause it doesn't seem like you've eaten in a while. Which is fine! I'm not mad or anything, just worried, and I promise I'll go away right after this. I'm just leaving it out so you can have something to eat without having to leave your room."</p><p>Silence. Patton strained his ears for a hint of loud music through headphones and asked, "Are you okay? I know things have been stressful lately. If you need help, I can- or, or maybe Logan, or Roman- they can help. You can talk to someone." His face burned. He hated when he talked and it got away from him, stupid useless rambling that did no good for anyone. "If you need something-"</p><p>A muffled, heavy thump. Patton's heart skipped a beat. "Virge?" Nothing. He wavered, wanting to wring his fingers. "You don't have to talk to me, but please, I- could you knock on the wall if you're okay? I'm really sorry, I just- if you can't tell me, I'm gonna have to come in. In case you're hurt."</p><p>Virgil didn't knock. Patton waited, breath caught in his throat, wondering if it'd be better to leave, let Virgil deal with it on his own- but he hadn't eaten in five days. But he might be having a panic attack, might be in a bad place, and what if he thought Patton left because he didn't care, but what if Patton was the <em>cause-</em></p><p>A low, desperate whine, so close it must've been beside the door.</p><p>Patton broke. The door was open before his mind acknowledged it, and then there was no time to back off or apologize. Virgil was curled up in the corner by the door, hands in his hair and tears in his eyes.</p><p>He didn't look up when Patton rushed over, just kept sitting there trembling, breath coming in whooping, painful gasps. </p><p>He was crying.</p><p>Patton put the cake on his nightstand and crouched near him, out of touching range so he wouldn't feel crowded. "Virgil?" he asked, soft, but the other Side didn't react. Patton said, a little louder, "Virgil, I need you to count with me. Can you do that for me, buddy?"</p><p>A weak, stilted nod. Patton pushed pep into his voice and said, "Thank you so much! I'm gonna start counting now, okay? Breathe with me. In for one, two, three, four..."</p><p>Virgil followed him like he'd done at least forty times before, their own song and dance from even before Patton knew Virgil's name, steps boiled down to muscle memory. In for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight. Back when Virgil wasn't accepted, Patton had been the only one who helped him. Janus probably had, too, but there had been that time in between, when Virgil had one foot Light and one Dark, when it seemed like <em>no one</em> wanted him-</p><p>He'd had a lot of panic attacks then. Patton still shivered when he thought of all the signs he'd missed that Virgil wanted to duck out.</p><p>They counted, and slowly Virgil's breathing evened out. His shoulders got less tense, settling into their usual hunch, and his arms loosened their death grip around his knees. Patton sighed relief and leaned back, getting to his feet. Virgil stood, too, and Patton asked, "Do you wanna talk about it?"</p><p>Virgil's eyeshadow had run down his face. His eyes were red, bangs tangled and floppy like he hadn't slept in a while. Patton longed to brush them from his face, tell him everything would be okay, but-</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"We don't have to," Patton amended. "It's, I just thought, since you haven't been out since Janus-"</p><p>The horror at his own stupidity hit him a second too late. Virgil flinched, shoulders rising up like walls. "What are you even doing here?" he rasped. "I didn't let you in."</p><p>The miasma of his room crept around them, seeping into Patton and tinging every emotion with anxious fear. He didn't usually spend this long in Virgil's room. It made him think of spiders and monsters and creepy-crawly dangers, giving him the heebie-jeebies worse and worse each time. He could feel his thoughts spinning, emotions hiking up and up like a rocket flying into space.</p><p>"I was gonna stop at the door," Patton said, voice going high with nerves, "but I heard a thump, and I thought you might need help, so."</p><p>"So what?" Virgil snapped, bringing up a hand to swipe at his eyes. Patton's breath caught at the quick movement. "You thought you'd barge in?"</p><p>"You sounded scared." So many cobwebs, and spiders hiding out of sight, skittering up to climb on him and bite him and <em>crawl into his mouth</em>- "I'm sorry if I messed up."</p><p>"I told you to leave me alone," Virgil bit out, and Patton almost cringed. "You gave Deceit a hold on Thomas. You let him <em>move in."</em></p><p>"Janus isn't really that bad," Patton said, and Virgil snarled, bristling all at once. His room intensified, fear catching like talons in Patton's chest. He swallowed the urge to scream. "I know you have your differences-"</p><p>"Differences?" Virgil spat. "He's a liar. That's what he does. He schemes and manipulates and <em>fucks Thomas over, </em>and even if you insist on being stupid enough to believe him this time, <em>I</em> won't."</p><p>"Virgil, you can't just stay in your room and not eat-"</p><p>"You <em>never listen to me!" </em>Virgil snarled, and Patton's heart was rabbit-fast, painful in his throat. "You- I didn't <em>ask </em>for your help, you just assumed and came in anyway, like you assume you know what's best for Thomas every- <em>fucking</em>- <em>time!" </em></p><p>And Virgil was getting closer, wild with snarling panicked anger, and Patton <em>knew </em>it was because he was hurt and humiliated and lashing out, putting up defenses before anyone even attacked, but the terror in his lungs told a different story. Virgil's room said <em>he hates you for real, you're horrible and he's right and how </em>dare <em>you- </em></p><p>"Kiddo," he said desperately.</p><p><em><strong>"I'm not your kiddo!" </strong></em>Virgil screamed, too loud too close and he was holding a<em> knife-</em><em><br/></em></p><p>Patton flinched back in one violent motion, already anticipating pain, and his elbow hit something soft and squishy.</p><p>Time stopped.</p><p>He stared down at his frosting-covered arm and saw that the cake was hopelessly crushed. No skull, no top hat, just mushy sugar and bread. "Oh," he said, and his voice felt like it was miles away. He'd ruined the cake, too. Now he didn't have a reason for bothering Virgil in the first place.</p><p>Virgil was frozen, staring at him and the cake, whole body pale and trembling. There was something in his eyes, in his face- rage, maybe, disbelief or fear, a hodgepodge of emotions Patton couldn't process. "I'm sorry," Patton said, because he'd messed up <em>again, </em>and Virgil's gaze snapped up to him. "I'm going now."</p><p>"Yeah," Virgil said, and his voice was tight and raw. He didn't move any closer, just stood there and kept himself perfectly still. Patton couldn't stop shaking. "You- you do that."</p><p>He left, and the door slammed shut behind him, locking with a final <em>click. </em>Patton stood staring at it for a long time, cold flooding through his head. He'd ruined everything. He'd pushed too far, gotten involved where he had no right to, not anymore, and now Virgil would never stop hating him. He'd never be Popstar again.</p><p>How many times could someone apologize, before you had to admit they were bad for you? How many times could a person be forgiven?</p><p>Janus said the greater good was more important. That the right answer in the Trolley Problem was to pull the lever, because one person's death meant less than five. Being mature and mitigating harm. Doing the smart thing, the <em>right </em>thing.</p><p>His family wouldn't be hurting if Patton had never existed. Janus would never have felt the need to hide Remus away, and Roman would've gone to the callback, and Logan would've been happier without emotions clouding everything and Virgil would be calmer, might feel safe for real. Thomas wouldn't have to worry about sacrificing his life one day for someone else, because he would've been free to care about himself.</p><p>Patton couldn't duck out, because then Thomas might not have any emotions at all, but he thought he might be able to do the next best thing- to do the <em>right </em>thing.</p><p>The Imagination was a good start. It let him see what he was doing to the others and punished him for it, made him repent and admit he was wrong. Maybe that would be enough, and if Patton did it for a while he'd be better, like metal beaten pure.</p><p>Maybe one day Patton wouldn't come back, dissolved into nothing after a simulation got too real. Either way, his family would be better off.</p><p>Patton could trade his happiness for theirs, the one man dying in the Trolley Problem so the other five could live, and <em>that</em> might be enough. That might make up for being <em>him, </em>for his multitude of sins, because Thomas might've learned his morals from his parents but Patton should've known better. It was his job to know better.</p><p>Cold silver, liquid light. Dying and burning and doing it with grace<em>.</em></p><p>Patton would never be a saint, but-</p><p>He thought that, as Morality, he should at least be able to do <em>that</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: sexual language, threats, knife violence, temporary character death, sickness, suicidal ideation, panic attacks<br/>Jeez, that's a lot.</p><p>Also, as a side note, Remus knows what kinks are. He's just trying to frighten Patton.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Things get better. At least, Patton thinks so.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW’s at end of chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Days blurred together. Patton knew the passage of time from Thomas, but when he didn't check in, hours stretched to weeks or squished into sparse minutes, and he spent so much time asleep he didn't know if he was awake at night or daytime. He dragged himself out of bed whenever he woke up, though, to make as much food as he could before exhaustion dragged him down again.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Virgil's words kept playing in his head, interspersed with the knife slashing up through his stomach and the train and Thomas's mind turned to a hot red Hellscape, boiling in the light of a crimson sun. He couldn’t think about it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He baked. He said hi to Janus but asked if they could hang out later. He went to Remus's half of the Imagination, door left open but no Intrusive Thoughts around, and learned what it felt like to get shot in the leg.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It had been a robbery scenario. Patton remembered that much. He'd gone into a copy of Thomas's apartment and there had been a woman there, wild-eyed and dreadfully skinny, and before he could offer her food or a ride to a homeless shelter she'd taken out a gun and pulled the trigger.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton had heard the sound first, and then the pain had hit- but the woman had left while he was staring at his gushing leg, and after that his mind went blank.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He'd been scared. He'd been screaming, because it hurt so bad and the bleeding wouldn't stop, and when he'd been stabbed there'd been blood, too, but that wasn't why he'd died. He hadn't been able to breathe, when the knife had cut him up, because his lungs had flooded so there wasn’t room for air. That time he’d died quickly.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With the gun, with his leg, he'd had to watch. The floor had turned red, like Thomas's mind after Patton stopped being able to pretend he knew anything, and the lights above him had been so bright, and some deep-set human instinct had made him try to staunch the bleeding, because if Thomas was shot that was what they'd have to do-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the details escaped him, and the memories were wordless and agonized. He didn't even remember getting back to his room.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn't remember falling asleep on the couch, either, but the cold hand on his shoulder could only belong to one Side, and he usually left Patton alone if he was in bed. "Janus?" Patton murmured, forcing his eyes to open. It felt like fighting gravity. "Did you need something?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I need you to get up," Janus bit out, and Patton flinched, tried to drag himself upright. Lightheadedness fuzzed out his vision, made his ears ring. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"'M up," he said, fumbling to his feet. Janus put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down, and he blinked at him, heartbroken and confused. "Did I mess something up?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"No," Janus said, so Patton knew it was a lie, "of course you haven't. But you've been sleeping far too much, and just now you </span> <span class="s2">weren't </span> <span class="s1">having a nightmare."</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton wracked his brain, trying to remember enough words to answer. He understood Janus fine, but when he reached for a response he got shapes and colors, sense without form. Stupid. "Red," he managed, looking hard at the carpet and trying to focus. "It was- there was a lot of red."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It's taken a toll on you," Janus said. Patton tucked his hands under his arms so he wouldn't be tempted to reach out and touch. "You're the Heart. Have you ever been this long without contact?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'm Morality," Patton bit out. "Just 'cause I'm emotions, too-"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He choked off, sensation hitting in a wave. Janus had two fingers under his chin, twin spots of fire, tilting up his head so he had to meet his eyes. Patton's breath hitched perilously close to a sob. "This shouldn't be enough to make you cry," Janus said, terminally soft. "You shouldn't be so anxious for this, Patton. You're not fine."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Patton tried to speak, but the shame flooded up and drowned him, set him afloat. He jerked back, trying to hide his face, and Janus let him- but he moved his bare hand to cover Patton's, instead. "Would you let me help you?" Janus asked, and Patton couldn't tell if he was earnest or being mean, trying to show him how horrible he was, how uselessly needy, always having to chide and chatter and be involved- "<em>Please</em>. Patton, </span> <em> <span class="s2">Morality</span> </em> <span class="s1">. Please let me help you."</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton nodded miserably, and the world lurched around them. They landed in a room all in gray, like an old detective movie; Patton felt the cloying of lies on his tongue and sneezed.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Janus's room. He'd never been in here before. "What're we doing?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"Sitting, mostly." Janus had summoned a bunch of pillows; he patted one and Patton sat down, shuddering at the dishonest itch on his skin. "Now you know how I </span> <em> <span class="s2">don't </span> </em> <span class="s1">feel all the time," Janus said, smirking. "Is it all right if I touch you?"</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Why?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"You need it." Patton shook his head. "If you're so inclined not to accept it for </span> <span class="s2">selfish </span> <span class="s1">reasons, accept it for me. It <em>totally</em> doesn't vex me to watch another Side self-destruct."</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I'm not-" The rest of the sentence hit. "Wait, Janus, am I hurting you?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"Yes," Janus said, "you are. It's very cruel of you." Patton shrank back, and he said, brutal, "You need contact, Patton. From </span> <span class="s2">anyone. </span> <span class="s1">Even on the Dark Side, I had Remus." Janus faltered at that. "But you have no one right now but me. If you'd rather I be someone else-"</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"That's <em>cheating</em>," Patton snapped, jerking away. The loss of contact felt like losing a limb, like falling off a cliff; his mind started screaming all at once, begging for </span> <span class="s2"><em>touchwarmthcloseness</em>, </span> <span class="s1">but what Patton had to say was more important. "I can't- you're not them. It's not </span> <span class="s2">real." </span> <span class="s1">And god, wouldn't it be insulting to replace them, to make <em>Janus</em> replace</span> <span class="s1"> them like he wasn't enough by himself?</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Janus took a deep breath. "All right. You don't have to look at me, but you do need contact. Is there anyone else you'd like me to be?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">Thomas</span> </em> <span class="s1">, came the thought, unbidden and horrible. Thomas saying Patton was enough, that he forgave him, that he thought Patton wasn't ruining his life one apology at a time-</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Hold on. "Why wouldn't I look at you?" Patton asked. "There's nothing wrong with your face, kiddo. I know I haven't been the nicest in the past, but that's not your fault. It just- doesn't seem fair to you <em>or</em> them</span> <span class="s1">, to make you pretend like that."</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"Why should I care?" Janus asked. "I'm Self-Deception. It's not as if I'm used to</span> <span class="s1"> taking on your faces for ulterior motives. That would be ridiculous."</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"I thought you wanted to be </span> <em> <span class="s2">ridiculed-less</span> </em> <span class="s1">," Patton said, trying to smile, and Janus snorted. Then his expression got careful, and he held out a hand, perfectly formal.</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wasn't wearing gloves. Patton could see the scales dappling up his palm and across his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Really?" Patton asked, voice breaking. "I don't want to be inconvenient, or a distraction-“</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"Believe me. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Please</span> </em> <span class="s1">," Janus said, and his room shifted, grays getting a little more black and white. "There's nothing else I'd rather be doing."</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton nodded, too weak-willed to keep resisting. "What'm I doing?" </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"May I touch you?" Another nod. Janus inched closer and put an arm around Patton's shoulder, and he whined without meaning to, the warm weight a brand on his shoulders. He- he <em>wanted</em>- "You can come closer," Deceit murmured, and Patton pressed into his side, fingers clenching uselessly at the ground. Another hand wove its fingers between his, bringing up his arms so he could clutch them in Janus's shirt.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could feel him breathing. They were touching, wonderfully close, and Patton didn't deserve this but if it hurt Janus not to help that was okay, right? Because it wasn't for him. He was alleviating someone else's suffering, like he was supposed to.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Janus rubbed his back, and Patton broke, tears spilling over. They stayed that way for a long time.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally Patton had to go- he had work to do, even if he wasn't seeing Thomas in person- and Janus thinned his lips but didn't argue. Patton made sure to hug him (hug him!) and thank him, to promise to make whatever he wanted for dinner tonight, but it only lightened his frown a little. "There's no need," Janus said, "You've made enough to feed everyone for a week at this point, it's totally not getting egregious."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton cracked a weak smile. "What can I say? I'm always cooking up new ideas."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"Weak, but I'll accept it," Janus said. Then he caught Patton's gaze, snake-eye gleaming bright as sulfur, and said, "This wasn't a one time thing, Patton. If you can stand it, you can come</span> <span class="s1"> back. Let me fulfill my function</span> <span class="s1"> as Self-Preservation."</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Patton blinked back unwanted tears. "How do I know you aren't falafel your role as Deceit right </span> <span class="s2">now?" </span> <span class="s1">he whispered, almost a whimper. The words weren't right, but he couldn't think how he'd messed them up; his body was already crying to fly back into Janus's arms, fall asleep right there with the other Side flopped on top of him. </span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Janus didn't flinch. "I know I haven't always <em>bean</em> the most dependable in the past, but please let me do you this <em>fava</em>," he said, and Patton's mistake became painfully apparent. He flushed, and Janus smiled at him. "An opportunity for a pun is </span> <span class="s2">never </span> <span class="s1">a good thing," he said, and Patton tried to smile back.</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Janus walked him to his room, close enough to brush shoulders. Patton gave him a nod and stepped in, cloying nostalgia swallowing him like quicksand.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">*</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There had been a woman with a cane in the stairwell, struggling down the second of twenty flights and already gasping for breath, unable to go any farther. The man with her had been helping Patton, who'd hurt his leg in the first blast that'd taken out the top story of the skyscraper. Patton had said he'd be fine, and the man had gone to the woman with the cane instead, had lifted her and hurried down, trying to goad Patton along behind him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton had told him to go on and he'd catch up. He'd limped down as fast as he could, the gash in his leg trailing blood behind him; the second blast had collapsed the ceiling on top of him.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d known it would happen, but that didn’t make the shock any less painful.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time he didn't die all at once. He woke to agony in his lower body and a jag of rebar stabbed right through him, pinning him in place. The concrete had bent it down into a hook, made it impossible to slip free; Patton couldn't have died faster if he tried, and like always the scenario wouldn't end before he did. He was trapped, one leg crushed and the other bent up toward his torso, impaled between floor and rubble like a Morality sandwich. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His abdomen felt hot and sticky, pressed-through, but it didn't hurt, not really. Not if Patton didn't move. He laid his head back, neck hurting from the bad angle, and reminded himself of what would happen if it were Thomas in this situation.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Thomas had hurt his leg, and told the man to help the lady with the cane, and fallen behind...</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Virgil would have been terrified, trying to drag him along. Janus would have insisted he take the man up on his offer for help. Logan would have tried for compromise, Roman for a creative solution, Remus for- well, maybe a creepy mental image, but it might have spurred Thomas along.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton would have made him fall behind, and Thomas would wake up here in the rubble, high above the ground and trying not to breathe so the rebar didn't move, covered in gray dust and watching the ceiling creak closer, closer, closer. Virgil would have been crying by that point. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton would have been crying, too, but since it was his fault no one would have to care.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">He was crying now. He took another shallow breath and blinked, salt trickling down the sides of his face. What a </span> <em><span class="s2">tear-ible</span></em> <span class="s1">situation. How much worse would it be if it were Thomas, instead?</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s2">If it were the lady with the cane</span> <span class="s1">, came the unwilling thought, and Patton couldn't help but think of being left behind, everyone only thinking for themselves and leaving the slower one behind, being abandoned because you're defective anyway, right, so why not hurt you when you don't matter, when society doesn't think you matter-</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"Stop it," Patton snapped, voice weak as a thread, and the thoughts fell to the background, the endless white noise that Patton had gotten so familiar with recently. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Be good do good think good</em>, </span> <span class="s1">on and on, world without end. "Don't think about that," he mumbled. "'S not important."</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">The rubble above him groaned, and Patton jerked against his will, blind with fear- and screamed, rebar tearing into the edges of the wound. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't </span> <span class="s2">think, </span> <span class="s1">blurred and wordless and crying desperately for </span> <span class="s2">VirgilRomanLogan, </span> <span class="s1">mind insisting he had to call for help, to seek comfort and trust in others. He had to gasp and tremble for a long time, sobbing for breath, until the agony pulled back into something bearable.</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Then he couldn't </span> <em><span class="s2">stop</span></em> <span class="s1">gasping, heart galloping faster and faster in his chest. His lungs were useless, walls closing in as the air in the room shrank away-</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Patton was in a bed of leaves with a spider crawling on his arm. He blinked at it for a second, then jumped up and shrieked, punting the creepy-crawly into the mallow. "Sorry!" he called after it, rubbing at his arm to get rid of the crawly feeling on his skin. "Um, safe travels? I hope I didn't a-</span> <span class="s2"><em>wreck</em>-</span> <span class="s1">nid your day!"</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No giant spider barged out of the darkness to tear him in half and eat him while he struggled, so he figured the little one had scurried off unhurt.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He put a hand to his abdomen, relieved to see that the wound hadn't left any marks. It shouldn't have, since it wasn't real, but it was hard to assure himself of that, harder and harder the longer he spent in Remus's domain. He kept having nightmares of himself cut open and sliced apart and shot, eyes and ears and nose bleeding as his mouth opened in a silent scream, all dark around him with only a mirror to make him see-</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But those were dumb, and he was dumb for having them. The alternative was letting himself go along with thoughts that might hurt Thomas, and that was worse.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton concentrated and rose up in the kitchen, stumbling into the counter when he arrived. No one was up, and Thomas was asleep. That didn't necessarily mean that it was night, but if not even Logan was around, probably it wasn't just a nap he didn't have time to be taking.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and rubbed it against his cheek to feel the softness. He shouldn't have been napping outside of his room, where his presence might drive the other Sides away, but no one was out right then. He could rest his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A sound brought him to wakefulness some time later; Patton sat up and brushed his bangs out of his face, keeping himself small in case the other Side got mad and left, and caught Logan's surprised gaze.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The expression collapsed into flat neutrality, and Logan adjusted the papers in his hands. "Patton," he said, not really a greeting. "I didn't notice you there."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">A statement of fact, but Patton thought he could see a hint of vulnerability in his posture, in the way he glanced back down at his notes. Oh, </span> <span class="s2">Logan</span> <span class="s1">. He wanted to hug him, but knew he wasn't allowed. "Hi," he said, and his smile was genuine for once. "Don't mind me, I'll just be in the kitchen. I won't bother you." </span> <span class="s2"><em>Please please please don't leave</em>, </span> <span class="s1">was the undertone, but Patton knew Logan wasn't about to pick up on that. The best Patton could offer was his silence.</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Logan never liked when he talked too much, anyway. </span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Is... there anything you want, though?" Patton ventured, unable to help himself. "I can make paninis, or-"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I am quite busy," Logan said, fingers tightening on his pen, and Patton stuttered to a halt. "So, no. Thank you, Patton."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Just thought I'd offer," Patton mumbled, and fled to the safety of the kitchen. There he loitered, dithering between recipes- he didn't want to make something too time-consuming, since there were so many leftovers already, but he was hungry and Logan had said he didn't want anything but maybe Patton could make one extra just in case- and gave in to impulse, summoning the panini press Thomas had gotten as a gift one year but never actually used.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tomato-mozzarella-basil or ham-tomato-cheese? Patton felt like he hadn't eaten in ages; the thought of either one made his stomach grumble, like a lawnmower roaring to life after a long wait in the back of the garage. He hadn't eaten much of anything recently, not when he could sleep or do chores so he could pretend he was useful, but Logan being </span> <span class="s2"><em>there</em>, </span> <span class="s1">working quietly through Thomas's impressions of the past few days, reawakened his appetite. Suddenly he felt like a Side again.</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Both! Both is good," Patton sang to himself, then flinched and glanced around the corner at Logan. His eyes were on his papers, though, posture perfect as usual, so he hadn't heard. Patton hadn't broken his promise or driven him away.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No singing, humming, or mumbling, Patton told himself sternly, and got to work. Thomas did buy focaccia bread one time, so he summoned that easily enough, constructed of memories of warm food and friendly conversation, the patter of waitstaff weaving between satisfied guests. Tomatoes were common, and ham, even though mozzarella was harder than American cheese because Patton always thought of it looking all melty on pasta...</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">He had his ingredients laid out in no time. There was a word for that, something like </span> <em><span class="s2">missing piece </span></em> <span class="s1">or </span> <span class="s2"><em>Massachusetts</em>, </span> <span class="s1">but Patton had learned better than to chase those tardy white rabbits recently. Thinking too much about things was- he couldn't, that was all. It was </span> <span class="s2"><em>tiring</em>.</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Plug in the panini press. Get out the cutting board, wash the tomatoes, find the tomato knife with the serrated edge so it wouldn't slip.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was mindless, but Patton's thoughts were caught already, distracted by the soft sound of Logan's breathing in the other room, stirring the still air. He could hear his pen scratching, the click and scribble, could imagine his focused expression, the Zen of doing things efficiently yet sufficiently. He started doing things more quietly just to hear more of it, putting out a pair of plates like they were sleeping baby kittens, straining for each tiny sound. He had to pinch himself red to make himself focus.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He felt like he was balancing on a knife's edge, teetering across as he tried to focus on what he was doing, where one little mistake would see him cut up and dying slow where no one noticed. He had to bite his tongue so he wouldn't make a sound or try to talk, to take deep breaths so the stupid tears in his eyes wouldn't well over. His chest felt hot and funny, and silly thoughts kept flicking through his head, greedy and clingy and unrealistic: Logan coming into the kitchen, Logan smiling at him with faint approval, Logan reaching around him to get something and brushing Patton's cheek with his arm.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The tomato fell into neat little slices on the cutting board. Patton took out the ham.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Logan could come into the kitchen for something, spun the stupid daydream. He could need another pen. He could want the leftovers in the fridge- Patton had made and labeled healthy options, even! He could turn around and see Patton working and look at him for a second, and Patton could notice but Logan wouldn't look away, would let their eyes meet for a second and there wouldn't be hatred there, just exasperation and annoyance, and he could say something like </span> <em><span class="s2">you aren't being very practical </span></em> <span class="s1">and Patton could nod and agree and listen, </span> <span class="s2">show him </span> <span class="s1">how well he'd listen, say nothing at all, and Logan might- might walk close enough when he left that Patton could catch a hint of warmth-</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The knife slipped. Patton choked back a cry and saw a deep cut on his palm well up crimson, blood gathering along the edges of the wound and sitting till it overflowed and ran down his wrist and arm, thin scarlet rivulets wrapping around him like ribbons on a Christmas present.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The pain was sharp and immediate, bringing tears to his eyes, but they didn't fall. Patton flexed his palm experimentally and swallowed a gasp; then he took the ham and threw it away, because it was covered in blood, and summoned a new one. He'd have to cut with just one hand, but he thought he could manage it if he kept his hurt one tucked into the hem of his shirt, even though it was bleeding through the fabric. The pain was distant, anyway. He had to focus.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He picked up the knife, nudging the ham with the side of his hand so it fell on its flat side where he could cut it better, and Logan snapped from behind him, "What are you doing?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton yelped and whirled around, back pressed painfully against the counter and knife thankfully slipped out of his grip. It was tilting off the edge of the cutting board; Logan put it further onto the surface, briefly distracted by ensuring safety or whatever he did, and Patton said, willing his voice not to break, "M-making paninis? I know you said you didn't want any but I'm making an extra just in case-"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"I am not referring to the paninis," Logan said, glaring. Patton tried to catch his breath, but there didn't seem to be much air in the room. The world had narrowed to Logan's sharp voice and his presence, near and suffocating, and Patton was trembling with the effort it took not to throw himself at him and burst into tears. Logan wouldn't like that. He had to think about what Logan liked. "Why are you attempting to make sandwiches with an open wound?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Patton stared at him, for a moment so confused it felt like Logan was talking nonsense. Then he glanced down at his hand and saw it'd soaked the bottom of his shirt red- that the pain was still </span> <span class="s2">there, </span> <span class="s1">so cutting it stole his breath</span> <span class="s2">-</span> <span class="s1">and said, "Oh! Um, sorry, I promise I'll clean it up. I know I'm not very well </span> <span class="s2"><em>red</em>," </span> <span class="s1">there, that was a pun Logan couldn't notice or get mad about, "but I know you're not supposed to bleed on people's food. You don't have to worry about that."</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">His head was full of cotton. Patton blinked harder, twisting his shirt hem in his free hand, and tried not to sway too visibly. Logan snapped, "I am expressing concern as to why you haven't </span> <span class="s2">bandaged </span> <span class="s1">the wound, not for the welfare of the sandwiches you don't need to be making in the </span> <span class="s2">first place </span> <span class="s1">because we already have too much food!”</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Patton flinched. He'd been hungry, that was all, but that excuse was starting to pale in front of Logan's accusation. Of course he was being wasteful, and thoughtless, and an idiot. Of course he didn't understand what Logan was talking about. But he was trying, he </span> <span class="s2">had </span> <span class="s1">been, and what if Logan had been hungry? "I don't think it's that bad of a cut, kiddo," he tried, because bandages would make Janus worry and it'd stop bleeding eventually, right? He didn't want to think about it. Thinking about blood and hurt and how long it took to stop being able to breathe was- he couldn't. He'd died that </span> <span class="s2"><em>morning</em>, </span> <span class="s1">he could have a little break from having it on his mind for a while. "I know you're- concerned and stuff, but-"</span></p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"Would you please just listen to me?" Logan said, voice rising, and Patton froze. "You are bleeding from an open wound all over the kitchen, that is </span> <span class="s2">not </span> <span class="s1">what qualifies as a small cut, and if you were Thomas I would already be urging him to an urgent care center for stitches. It is, in fact, that bad of a cut. The fact that you don't seem to </span> <em><span class="s2">realize</span></em> <span class="s1">that-"</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"Okay!" Patton blurted out, face hot with the urge to cry. He'd- messed up again, not listened again, and Logan was mad and would never talk to him again and- "I'm sorry, I'll bandage it, you're right. You're right, Logan. I'm listening."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Logan's shoulders were trembling, very faintly. Patton could have drowned in guilt. "All right," he said, and adjusted his glasses. His posture settled with a deep breath. "Please hold your hand above your heart and apply pressure on the cut. While Thomas may have required stitches, I believe the psychosomatic effect of a bandage should be enough to promote healing in your case, and if I recall correctly, Thomas is already in possession of a large first aid kit-"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Logan took out the first aid kit- Patton remembered Virgil telling Thomas to buy it, saying he could never be too prepared- and guided Patton to rinse his hand in the sink, close but not touching. Resisting the need to close the gap hurt more than the wound. Then he wrapped Patton's palm with the bandages, fingers skirting along his skin and making Patton's breath hitch, and said, "I believe that should be adequate," looking satisfied. "Has your discomfort lessened?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Patton nodded, not trusting himself with words. "I'm still hungry, though," he admitted, soft, because Logan had said the sandwiches were pointless. "I don't wanna take the food I made anyone else."</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Logan regarded him with a frown and said, "In that case, I suggest that you sit down at the table, and I will finish creating the sandwich. Only half of the loaf came into contact with a known biohazard-"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The heat swelled so fast in Patton's chest that he blurted, "You don't have to do anything!" before he could stop himself interrupting.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">Logan stared. Panic shrieked </span> <em><span class="s2">he’s mad he’s mad he’ll leave</span></em> <span class="s1">, but all the other Side said was, "Why would I offer if I didn't intend to go through with it? I am going to make the sandwich. It would be irrational for you to aggravate a recent injury by making the effort, especially since your carelessness has already caused you to wound yourself once."</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This time Patton didn't flinch, but that was only because he deserved it. Carelessness. He had a whole lot of that these days, didn’t he. "Thank you," he managed, and went over to the kitchen table, where Logan was out of view. He couldn't touch Logan's papers, or he might ruin them. He didn't know what to do with his hands.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With Logan out of sight, some part of his mind started crying that he wasn't there, that Patton had made him up; he bit the inside of his cheek until the thought went away, reaching to hear the sounds of Logan muttering under his breath in the kitchen, but he still felt a rush of relief when the other Side came back into sight.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><em><span class="s2">Logan, Logic, Logan, </span></em> <span class="s1">went his heartbeat, every inch of him begging for another scrap of attention, for a hint of regard. If he cried now, Logan would get disgusted and leave. He had to keep quiet. </span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Logan put the plate in front of him- tomato-mozzarella-basil, said Patton's nose- and said, "Is this satisfactory?"</span>
</p>
<p class="p1"><span class="s1">"It smells delicious," Patton said, making sure to keep his sentences short. He wanted to say something about how he didn't mean to be </span><span class="s2"><em>cheesy</em>, </span> <span class="s1">or how he'd be sure to return the favor </span> <span class="s2"><em>to-mah-to</em>, </span> <span class="s1">but bit it back. "Thanks, Logan."</span></p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">"It served as a break from my work," Logan said with a faint nod, and sat down across from him. Patton's heart leaped; he looked down at his sandwich and saw that it had been cut into smaller pieces that could be picked up with one hand.</span>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn't speak, afraid that the moment would burst like a soap bubble and Logan would go back to his room, where he always was when Patton was around. He just picked up the first sandwich piece and took a bite, appetite making a little comeback, and savored the food and company.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: implied terrorist attack, touch starvation, temporary loss of object permanence (mild), kitchen accidents, blood, impalement, temporary character death, self-hatred</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Not quite a new normal.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW's at end notes</p>
<p>Thank you as always to alicat54c for beta reading!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"What is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that?"</span>
  </em>
  <span> Janus asked as soon as Patton stepped upstairs, caught halfway out his door and staring like he'd seen a ghost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton startled and glanced behind him, stupidly thinking that something had followed him out of Remus's Imagination, but his mind caught up with him just after. Janus was looking at his bandaged hand, not over his shoulder. "I cut myself making paninis," Patton said sheepishly, and Janus relaxed, expression flicking from scared to exasperated. "Logan fixed me up, so I'm a happy pappy peach now!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sometimes your distortion of words frightens even me," Janus drawled, and came closer to inspect Patton's hand. "Does this mean Logan's talking to you again?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He didn't want to," Patton admitted, and the shame made his eyes tighten, guilt smothering him like a blanket of snow. "I was supposed to leave him alone, but then I messed up and made him take care of me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"As he should have," Janus said. Patton winced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He helped me finish the sandwiches, though," he offered, brighter. "That was really nice of him, don't you think, Janus?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Saintly." Janus tilted his head, hat casting shade over the snake half of his face. It made his snake eye look jaundiced and yellow. "There's blood on your shirt."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton blinked and looked down at his outfit. Oh. He hadn't thought to clean it up, had he? Even though he'd been in his room for hours, committing Logan's company to memory, running his mind over it like how he ran his fingers through stuffed animals' fur to soak in the remembered love, to let himself marinate until his whole body felt warm and golden. He’d breathed it all in: Logan's steady scritch-scratching on the paper, the straight posture at the corner of Patton's eye, the way Logan's hair fell into his face when he hunched over and he huffed through his nose and tucked it back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clink of the plate when Logan put it in front of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It served as a distraction from my work. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Logan saying his name when he first saw him, not averting his eyes like Patton didn't exist or was shameful to look upon. Logan's smooth, clipped voice, just a tiny bit surprised, saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Patton.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn't been able to tear his mind away from it. Hugging a stuffed animal had let him focus a little, since it felt like a hug and Patton could imagine someone else there with him, brushing their fingers through his hair or laying on the bed behind him without touching, but he hadn't had the willpower to get out of bed and do something useful for once. If he'd gotten out of bed, he'd have had to go teach himself a lesson again. Idle hands were the Devil's playground, and Patton had been neglecting his role as Morality so much lately, had tried to exemplify it and found himself wanting, he had to fix it, fix himself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fix Thomas--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry," Patton said past the roaring in his ears. "I guess I forgot to change."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janus stepped forward and touched his shoulder, swapping out one blue shirt for an identical clean one. Patton froze at the touch, thoughts stuttering like a broken record into </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasepleasepleaseplease. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The other Side flicked his eyes up to meet Patton's gaze, face going blurry as his eyes filled with unwanted tears, and cupped Patton's cheek with a gloved hand. Patton pushed into the touch, flushing with humiliation, and closed his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Do you need to visit my room again?" Janus asked, and Patton hated that he knew what he was doing, that he could tell how much more likely Patton was to agree if they were already touching when Janus asked, if he could feel the contact he was missing. Like asking someone if they were hungry when they could smell the bread baking in the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn't impose. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>couldn't. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Patton jerked away, the rush of empty air like despair on his skin. "No, thank you," he said. "I don't-- I just need to get myself together, that's all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well," Janus said acidly, "if you’re so certain." He didn't move. Patton couldn't bring himself to push past him, because then their shoulders would touch and Janus might lean in and Patton would collapse, like a building would collapse, and it wouldn't be only him caught in the rubble-- "You should invite everyone to dinner tonight."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What?" Ice water, filling up his lungs until Patton felt like the slightest movement would make it spill from his mouth, would show Janus just how fragile he felt. "I don't think that's a good idea, kiddo."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's been over a month," Janus said. "Have you considered that they may not know how to make the first move? An entire month, without speaking all in a group, would take its toll on anybody. Perhaps they're just waiting for permission."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Permission from who?" Patton bit out. "I'm really not any kind of authority, Janus. Virgil doesn't even want to see me anymore."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Virgil deals badly with change," Janus said, "but Roman and Logan need to come back into the fold. You've had relatively cordial interactions with both of them, haven't you? And they don't have the same amount of annoyance with each other, past the usual sniping. You could invite them."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>They won't want to see me either</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Patton wanted to scream, but he knew that was selfish of him. He wasn't the one who mattered here. Roman and Logan, isolated from each other and from Virgil, even from Janus-- that was what mattered. Back when Thomas had been more settled in himself, they'd used to have fun teasing Patton about his silliness, his forgetful nature. Maybe now they could bond over hating him. "Okay," Patton agreed, swallowing hard. "I-if you think it'll work."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I think it's worth a try," Janus said, just the hint of a smile. "Of course, it will just be the four of you--"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No!" Patton snapped, and Janus's eyes went wide. "Oh, I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound angry, I just--" </span>
  <em>
    <span>Don't want to be there alone, surrounded by people who hate me, even if I deserve it I don't want it not yet please not now-- </span>
  </em>
  <span>"Could you stay? You don't have to if you don't want to."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"They won't appreciate it," Janus pointed out, but something in Patton's expression must have given him away, because his eyes softened with acquiescence. "But I'm glad to, if you'd prefer it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would," Patton promised him, and when he set the table that night they actually came, one fish two fish and a purple fish loitering on the stairs, Roman brushing Virgil's shoulder as he passed him by and Logan nodding at them both. It set Patton's chest pleasantly aflame, not like a wildfire but like a tea candle, warm in soft colors: they'd been getting along with each other, at least. Probably visiting each others' rooms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Logan's eyes darkened at Janus, and Roman stiffened, shooting him such a sharp glare that Patton almost flinched, because the last time he'd had a glare like that directed at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>he'd gotten shot. Virgil drew back his lips at Janus's presence, too, sidling along to sit as far from him as possible, but that put him right beside Patton. Logan sat at the other side of the table, leaving Roman at the head so he could glare across at Deceit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton had gone for comfort foods over everything else, with fruit salad and actual leaf salad for Logan. He'd put it all out on the table-- homemade bread, pot roast, mashed potatoes, water as Logan's drink and sweet tea or Coca Cola for everyone else, except for Janus who wanted iced unsweet for some reason, even though Patton had caught him sneaking in a few sugar packets before the place mats were down-- on top of a fancy runner like Thomas's mother used for guests.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one reached for anything. Patton remembered Thomas's grandparents saying grace, a flicker of muscle memory trying to pull the words off his tongue, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God Our Father </span>
  </em>
  <span>and downcast eyes to be thankful, and pushed it back to say instead, "Thanks for coming down. I know things have been a little, um. Tense, lately."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is that what we're calling it?" Roman said, still glaring at Janus. "Why is </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> here?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wanted to be," Janus said before Patton could tell the truth; could admit that he'd invited him. "I'm the only one who's been eating Patton's food for the past few days, after all. I've grown </span>
  <em>
    <span>quite</span>
  </em>
  <span> addicted."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman's eyes narrowed, but he glanced at Patton and didn't say anything else. Patton risked a little smile in his direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I see you've included salad," Logan said after a long, agonizing moment, and reached to pull some into a bowl. "That's very thoughtful of you, Patton."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stillness broke, and Roman started filling his plate, too, brightening at the fruit salad and the gravy. Patton saw Virgil reach over the table out of the corner of his eye and repressed the urge to cringe back, bit back another urge to look over to see his expression. Virgil wouldn't want Patton looking at him. He wouldn't want Patton touching him, either, not when he hated him so much and for good reason, so Patton had to wait until Virgil was done getting food before he reached for some, in case their arms touched.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Conversation rose up like an injured deer and limped along: first Roman mentioned a dream he'd given Thomas about floating sharks, straightening in his seat as he regaled them with his creation like he loved to do, like he hadn't had the chance to do recently and whose fault was that; then Logan mentioned shark facts, and Virgil mumbled something about their being dangerous, and there was a gap in the conversation like a skipped heartbeat, Patton's own heart clenching in his chest with sudden terror. Janus filled it, though, something about jumping over sharks and silly TV stunts, and the moment passed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton couldn't follow the conversation, though he tried to keep smiling at jokes and watching for bad moods. He felt like Thomas did in the middle of the night, when he couldn't sleep and his breathing was a storm in his ears, the blink of the fire alarm like a malevolent eye, the hum of the refrigerator like thunder in the silence of the darkest morning: like everything was too much, the voices around him blurred together, the warmth of a bunch of people in the same area saturating his muscles, Roman's reluctant stifled snicker making his breath catch and his eyes sting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They'd been so happy, before the wedding and the callback, before Patton had been asked to lead the way. They could be that happy again, if Patton got his act together. If he stopped being so overbearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The conversation still faltered sometimes, strange silences where words should have filled in the cracks, but it always went back to normal in the end. A few times Patton opened his mouth before he realized what he was doing, spotting the opportunity for a pun or encouragement, but he bit his tongue before it could pass his lips. No one needed to hear what he had to say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kept his eyes on his plate, pushing food around and marveling at the limp brownness of the pot roast, how it looked so tender and hot but he could only see the stringiness, only see the juices and think they looked too liquid. The mashed potatoes were the wrong texture, the fruit salad glistening and decorative; the bread looked like it was from another planet, a heavy satiating treat meant for someone else. Patton couldn't make himself feel hungry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cleaned up after everyone when they left, shooting them smiles and even thanking Logan out loud, showing him how he'd kept his hand bandaged and it hadn't even started bleeding again. Virgil jerked when he spoke, stiffening in the corner of Patton's eye, so Patton took the cue and didn't talk to him at all before he went back upstairs. Instead, he put the dishes in the sink and then in the dishwasher and sank out, back to the devastated reaches of Remus's domain, to the mud and the blood and the ashes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>*</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kidnappers faked being hurt on the side of the road, so when Patton stopped the car he didn't even think to look behind him. That was how they caught him: hit him over the head, ziptied his wrists behind his back, shoved him in the trunk of the car and kept driving. Patton kicked the brake lights, hyperventilated, cried without meaning to; he shouldn't have fought so hard, because he knew the end result as well as Thomas knew his video scripts by now, but the inside of the trunk was dark and musty like the back of a closet, and there was an empty McDonalds bag digging into his cheek. He hated when the deaths felt so real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They drove for what felt like hours, until Patton's arms and legs cramped and he got too tired to kick. Then they stopped so fast he hit the door with a painful </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>, sending blood trickling down from his temple into his eyes, and the kidnappers dragged him out of the car and shoved him to his knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another gun death. Patton closed his eyes, reminding himself of all the ways he could've gotten Thomas into this situation and of how scared he would have been, but the kidnappers kept talking instead of pulling the trigger, barking at each other with phrases Patton should have been able to parse but couldn't. His face was streaked with tears, lungs not getting enough breath; he felt like he was floating outside his body and hyper aware of it at the same time, of the pebbles digging into his knees, of the saw of the zipties on his wrists and the stench of car exhaust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn't realize the rushing sound wasn't in his head until they yanked him up and pulled him to the river's edge, close enough to feel the spray of the fast currents. Then he had to force himself not to struggle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The water closed over his head when they dropped him in. Without his arms he couldn't paddle, and one of his legs cracked when he hit the rocks wrong, and the river was frothing and tumultuous and dark and even when he saw sunlight he couldn't reach it, his weight was holding him down, it dragged him along and his chest burned and he couldn't keep holding his breath but breathing in hurt and he couldn't find the </span>
  <em>
    <span>surface and--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Patton woke up in the Imagination, he laid down for another hour on the soft grass, floaty and disconnected like his brain was a bad signal to his body's radio. Remus came and joined him after a while, flopping down beside him with a waft of sewage smell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hi, Remus," Patton said to be polite, looking up at the night sky. Clouds had covered the stars, but he could see a few shiny dots if he squinted. His whole body hurt, his chest and throat most of all. His eyes felt sticky.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Daddy Dickless," Remus greeted him, yawning so wide Patton could see three rows of teeth. "What the fuck did you put in that soup? Was it your tears of despair?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That'd be a tear-ible ingredient," Patton said before he could think better of it. "Did you like it?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I love the taste of tears! Especially from orphaned children who killed their parents in fits of madness and spend the rest of their days chewing limbs off in the asylum to deal with their guilt. Thomas should do that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton took a couple deep breaths, quieting his terrified shiver at the thought. Thomas killing his parents-- standing over their corpses and shaking, staring blankly down at the blood, and it'd be because Patton didn't tell him not to, because Patton was flawed, not good enough, didn't know when to talk and when to stay silent and when he was being so overbearing something had to break-- "Thomas isn't a kiddo anymore," he managed, "so I don't think that would work."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"We'll put a pin in it," Remus said cheerfully, rolling over and propping his feet up on Patton's hip. His boots had heels. They dug into Patton's skin like knives. "You gonna stay here any longer? It's been forever; I bet Thomas is actually awake again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton shifted, coming back to himself. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been several hours, because Thomas was eating Lucky Charms for breakfast. Logan wasn't gonna like that. What he'd like even less, though, was Patton coming back to intrude in their space-- Patton walking through the common area when he'd wanted to leave it empty so the others could come down and hang out like they had the past couple days. Having a family dinner had broken most of the ice after all. Even Janus wasn't received with nothing but scorn anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was still something wrong, a void that felt like missing a step on a staircase, but Patton knew that was because of him. The dinner had gone well because he hadn't spoken up, hadn't inserted his nonsense and opinions into everything; their conversation with Thomas the next day had gone better because Patton had kept quiet on his opinions except when absolutely necessary, only piping up to agree with Logan that maybe Thomas should buy fair trade chocolate if he wanted to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whenever Patton was around, the mood soured. Virgil got quiet and stiff. Roman lost his grudging tolerance of Janus and started glaring again, like he'd forgotten what he was mad about until Patton was back in the picture. Logan didn't change, but he responded to how the others acted, and Patton knew he wasn't wanted. He ruined the picture, being the overbearing moron who'd caused most of their trouble in the first place. Things went so much better when he was invisible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’re you thinking about?” Remus prodded, stretching like a panther and digging his heel into Patton’s thigh. It made the ache there into a sharper pain, but Patton didn’t complain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His answer came to him faster than he expected, floating up from the back of his mind like it had been there waiting, humming so low he hadn’t noticed it till he’d looked. “St. Francis got stigmata at some point,” Patton mumbled. It wasn’t a hurt he could ever try on himself, because it felt so much worse than blasphemous-- he wasn’t even a person-- but the thought of what it had been like kept haunting his nightmares, making him dream of waking to bloody new holes in his limbs and being told they were holy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That wasn’t the only nightmare, of course. Usually it was coming out to the Mindscape and being the only person there, wandering and calling but never getting an answer, because Thomas had taken the other Sides somehow and left Patton behind. Even more often it was deaths, except Patton was never alone in them: Thomas was with him, or Roman, or Janus, and he always survived while they died in his place. So he had to watch knowing it was his fault. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stigmata dream, though. The dream of wounds that were a good thing, remnants of a greater pain, signs of being so moral that you were blessed with suffering--</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“St. Agatha got her boobs cut off,” Remus offered. “Now she holds them on a plate like hors d’oeuvres.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know what that means.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know what you mean, so I guess we’re even.” Remus shifted beside him. “Why do you keep coming down here? I know you’re doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s super fucking obvious.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m thinking,” Patton said. “About-- about morality. Being Morality. I don’t think I’ve ever done it right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought burned. He knew what he was-- puppies and softness and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll comfort you from the world, </span>
  </em>
  <span>sweetness and light and doing what felt right, always always what </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>right-- but there was that harder edge too, that part of him that said a moral death was better than a long life of selfishness and denial, that would throw Thomas into a burning building if it meant he could save another person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All the little things Thomas could do that made Patton’s heart soar didn’t cancel out that one towering truth. Patton could encourage him to give money to the homeless all he wanted, but it didn’t quiet the certainty in the back of his mind. Nothing silenced it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He knew that his efforts weren’t changing anything. They made him scared and hurt, they punished him, and maybe that was okay but if it didn’t stop that reflex towards sacrifice then </span>
  <em>
    <span>what was the point--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton sniffled, trying to hold back another wave of tears. Recently crying just made his eyes hurt, like he was a dry washcloth someone still wanted to wring out. And breaking down in front of the Duke again would be horrible, after how Patton had used to treat him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't want you here right now," Remus said after a moment longer. "Get out before I pin you down and force maggots down your esophagus so they eat through your stomach and you digest yourself from the inside out with a mega ulcer."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton gasped, flinching away and scrambling to his feet. Remus regarded him with algae-green eyes, pupils faintly glowing. "O-oh. I’m sorry, um, I guess I'll see you in a couple days?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Fuck off," Remus said, starting to stand with his morningstar in hand, and Patton fled before he could bring out any maggots for real.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He appeared in the hallway past Janus's room, near the gap in perception that separated one half of the Mindscape from the other, and for a second had to lean against the wall and heave, inhale exhale inhale again, to make sure there wasn't water in his lungs. To make sure his eyes were dry, no harsh red marks around his wrists. He didn't want to worry Janus again, not after he'd gotten sick and twisted his ankle the first time. Janus had enough to worry about already.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he looked up again it was to see Roman at the other end of the hall, stopped outside his room with one pencil in his hand and another behind his ear. "Patton?" he asked incredulously, and Patton shrank back. "Where have you been? For the love of Hermes and his winged </span>
  <em>
    <span>sandals</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it's been nearly two days since you've been downstairs."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I was just visiting Remus," Patton said with a careful smile, because this was a minefield like mentioning Janus to Virgil had been, and if Roman said he hated him, Patton wouldn't-- he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>wouldn't</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was all. No need to think any more about it. "Since he's the only Side on the other half right now, I thought I should keep in touch, y'know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Keeping in touch</span>
  </em>
  <span> involves staying by his side for over twenty-four hours?" Roman asked, darker. Patton's eyes widened, and Roman said, "Never mind that, I-- it's been nearly two days, and I haven't seen you in your room or downstairs at all. Have you even been sleeping?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton offered, "I slept with Remus," and Roman froze, whole body gone taut like a cello string.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is that so," he said, and swallowed. "So you couldn't even be bothered to come back here to sleep? You had to stay on his side for that, too?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Panic made a fluttering beat in Patton's chest. "Roman," he said, trying for soothing, "I didn't mean to--"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Didn't mean to what?" Roman demanded. "Avoid us? Ignore us, like I'm-- like we're not good enough for you? Where do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span> all day? Why can't you just stay and listen for once in your life instead of gallivanting off to avoid everyone because we're too immature to meet your standards any--"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman reached out, like he wanted to touch Patton's sleeve or maybe his shoulder, and Patton jerked back. Roman's face looked so strange in the dark. "Stop it," Patton said, forcing himself not to cringe away. "I'm trying to go to bed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And I'm trying to get some answers," Roman shrilled. "You're avoiding us. Avoiding </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, spending half your time with Remus, apparently, and you won't even tell any of us </span>
  <em>
    <span>why!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"There is no why," Patton forced out, heart catching in his throat. Roman was blocking his way. Roman was sweet, blustery, needed attention, but it was hard to make out his face in the dark. Patton couldn’t tell if he was really angry. “I’m tired, Roman. I’d like to go to bed now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," Roman snapped. "No, we need to have this conversation, you can't just not talk to anyone and expect us to </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep quiet about it!"</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something in Patton's chest constricted and went hot, like a metal wire igniting in his chest. Like a silver wire, liquid mercury, a scream of feeling so intense that it caught him off guard, heat behind his eyes, heat in his chest and how could Roman talk to him about </span>
  <em>
    <span>quiet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, about </span>
  <em>
    <span>avoidance</span>
  </em>
  <span>, about </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you would just </span>
  <em>
    <span>listen</span>
  </em>
  <span>--"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words came from far away. "What I do isn't any of your business, Roman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman stared. "None of my business? Padre--"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Stop it. We both know I'm not really anyone's father," Patton said, quiet. His vision wasn't getting blurry, which was a relief. He was tired of crying. No matter what he did he messed up, wasn't enough, and he didn't even know what he was doing wrong this time except maybe not disappearing fast enough, making it look like he hadn't learned anything, it was so hard to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore-- "I'm just a Side like everyone else. What I do within my function isn't something you have to worry about."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman said, choked, "What are you talking about? You’re Patton.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'm Morality, and I’m going to bed," Patton said, and shuddered through his want to push past him. Roman grabbed his arm, though, warm fingers, warm touch and </span>
  <em>
    <span>godgodpleasehewantedhewantedhewasssorry</span>
  </em>
  <span> and what if he was going to hurt him, shove him underwater or shoot him, he was blocking the exits and the hallway was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>dark--</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Patton tore his arm away and flinched back towards the wall. "Please don’t touch me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman recoiled. "Patton…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't deal with you right now.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He didn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to die again. He'd already died that day, already learned his lesson, he didn't want to bleed out again, he wanted to </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest, </span>
  </em>
  <span>please-- "I just need you to leave me alone, okay?" Selfish, selfish, </span>
  <em>
    <span>selfish</span>
  </em>
  <span>. "I'm sorry you're angry, Creativity, but I don't want to talk to you. And you don’t need to talk to me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>None of them needed to talk to him. They did better when he wasn’t around. Patton was the spanner in the works, the weight on the scales pushing things out of balance, and as long as he kept his distance, things would get better. They had to get better. Suffering was good, so long as it happened to Morality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made everything so much clearer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Roman didn’t respond. Patton couldn't make out the details of his face. He stepped past him anyway, stupidly braced to be shoved or grabbed again, and closed his room behind him with a quiet thud.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thomas tried to summon him later that day, but the tug barely lasted half a second. Patton didn't even really register it before it was gone.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TW: kidnapping, drowning, suicidal ideation, nightmares, familial discord, touch starvation, panic attacks, dissociation, mention of maggots</p>
<p>... huh, that's a lot.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW: self-esteem issues, self-hatred, familial discord, self-harm, temporary suicide, worsening mental health, being run over by a train, getting roughed up, mentions of cyanide</p></blockquote></div></div>
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